


The Half-Mad Storyteller

by Seagoatink



Category: Elder Scrolls V: Skyrim
Genre: A Serious Case of the Sillies, Angst, F/M, Hurt/Comfort, Implied Sexual Content, Implied/Referenced Character Death, Referenced stillbirth
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-09-25
Updated: 2021-01-06
Packaged: 2021-03-08 00:07:33
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 10
Words: 11,200
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26646511
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Seagoatink/pseuds/Seagoatink
Summary: Few know who the dragonborn is, and fewer still talk of seeing them in action. A loyalty to the legend, perhaps. When a stoutly nord woman, who almost lost her head to the ax at Helgen, and then to the dragon at Helgen, appears in Windhelm, no one suspects her of such a thing. She's an amazing courier, aside from the lack of ceremony she provides in delivering things such as the Jagged Crown. But, she has talent, and werewolf blood.She fights for Skyrim like a true nord. Her heart beats for her homeland and her people. But there's something else, isn't there?
Relationships: Dovahkiin & Blaise, Female Dovahkiin | Dragonborn & Sofie, Female Dovahkiin | Dragonborn/Farkas, Female Dovahkiin | Dragonborn/Ulfric Stormcloak
Kudos: 12





	1. Chapter 1

A nord woman, almost rotund and on the shorter side entered the Palace of Kings. She was followed by a heavily armored woman with a staff. The nord pulled off her helmet and approached the throne, insisting she had Ralof's word.

Ulfric on his throne nodded and put his curled fingers to his chin in thought. "Yes, I thought I'd recognized you from Helgen," he admitted, before adding that Ralof had not yet returned.

"We stayed with his sister and her family, but I think he had other things to tend to in the area," she replied. "I'm not one to let a good night's sleep on a soft bed go without thanks. I hope to catch up with him when he happens by."

"Aye," the Jarl responded casually again, allowing the fresh blood to flit away if she so chose.

The nord handed a few septims to her partner and sent her on her way for a journey's worth of supplies.

The men dismissed Ralof's friend even as she followed them into the war room and listened to their speeches at each other. Once they were done with their grandeur, she approached Ulric's second, a man in a bear helmet. "I'm joining the cause and I want to know where I'm needed," she declared, glaring up at him with stony green eyes.

"Go kill a wraith here and prove that you're Stormcloak material," Galmar said as he pointed down at the map.

The woman pulled out her own map and scribbled the coordinates onto the margin. It was one among many other numbers, most of which were crossed off aggressively in charcoal or dried blood.

When she did return it was three days later, in the early morn. Her hair, plaited into a crown, was frozen in place. Ice slowly melted from her lashes and brows.

"Grima! I knew you'd make it here!" Ralof's familiar voice beckoned her through the palace hall. He eagerly swept her up in a brotherly bear hug, easily lifting her off the ground. "This is the one I mentioned from Helgen. Mighty aim with a bow, and swings an axe like she was born with one," he chuckled. His eyes crinkled with delight, to see Grima again and knowing the journey she made to join the Stormcloaks, it filled him with pride.

Ulfric stood and his second followed him to the war room. Ralof and Grima close behind. "I wasn't sure you'd come back," Galmar ribbed.

"A dragon didn't stop me; an ice wraith won't."

The jarl chuckled at that.

"It may not have stopped you, but it seems you've donned it in your hair," Galmar teased.

Grima tilted her head to the side and furrowed her brows together. Then a drop of water fell from her brow into her eye and she jolted. "Oh! No, I took a swim in the river. I came across some bandits on the way back and needed to wash up," she explained, as though anyone would have bathed in the freezing waters over a warm bath in town. "So what's next?"


	2. Chapter 2

The Palace of Kings was near empty. Torches provided more light than the windows let in from the fading sun. The harsh, chilling breeze of Windhelm rushed in at Grima's back. It brought everyone in the hall to alert.

She hurried past the feasting table and unfastened a burlap sack from her side. From there, she revealed the Jagged Crown, and handed it to Ulfric without ceremony. "Please excuse me, I'm famished," said Grima as she stepped away from the man on his throne.

"There is plenty to eat here," he offered and gestured to the table. He ran his thumb over the smooth horns of the crown, fascinated by the relic. Galmar was right about it, and now he owed the man a drink. 

The stoutly woman had ribs in her mouth before she even bothered to sit down. She even swished ale in her mouth for a good minute before downing the remainder of the bottle. When she finally finished, she came to her senses and took a seat on the bench. In her blind frenzy, Grima had not noticed Ulfric take a seat across from her.

With slow caution, she stared up at him as she wiped food away from her mouth. "I only had flowers and snowberries on my way back," she said in a small voice. Her deft hands however, snatched a pork haunch in a flash. "Imperials were there before us, I don't know what they wanted with the crown. But they put up less fight than a draugr, so I don't care," she grumbled between bites. “Some of those things Shout, you know? Painfully annoying.” She rolled her eyes and returned to the food.

“Evidently, still no match for you and our people,” he commented with a grin. Grima knew manners enough to cover her mouth when it was full, but the sight was enough to make Ulfric chuckle. "I will have to talk to Galmar about the Imperial presence there," he noted aloud. 

She rinsed her mouth with more ale, the haunch a memory with only bone left. "There was a girl murdered in the cemetery," said Grima. Her green eyes were glazed over. "I didn't need a good look to know it was brutal, but I'd like permission to help find the murderer."

The evening fell into a quiet, peaceful night. With Ulric's permission, Grima went to work. Somehow, he found comfort in that and was able to sleep with ease. With all the woman had done for the people already, he mulled over making her Thane as a gesture of appreciation.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> My timeline for this is quite messy, when I wrote this a few weeks ago I was thinking "ok in game this takes x amount of time" but then I doubled back and realized how mess that all felt and was. However, in editing finding balance in time, didn't make it any less messy and imo may have made it a bit confusing instead.
> 
> Sorry It's a short chapter, I just have it sectioned off where I have time skips and pay zero attention to what that would do to chapter length


	3. Chapter 3

Ulfric woke to find Galmar settling back in. New points on the map in the war room had already been marked. He walked past and into the dining hall where Yrsarald was already seated along with Jorleif. "Any news?" Asked Ulfric as the two ate in relative quiet.

"Grima should return in a few hours with news. According to the guard, she's been rather busy all night," answered Jorleif. He was fast to turn his attention back to his meal. No one wanted to think about the gruesome murders that had gone on for too long. Especially not over a hearty meal.

Not a moment later, Galmar beckoned Ulfric back to the war room. He complied, of course, but did not expect his friend to shut the door behind him nearly as quick as he had. "I understand I owe you a drink, Old Friend, but that gives no reason for secrecy," said Ulfric in his usual deep and booming voice. 

"Yes, but this isn't about that -it's about Grima!" There was delight and excitement in his eyes. Even his open posture could not hide it.

The jarl narrowed his eyes and crossed his arms. "What's this about Grima?" 

"You may not believe me, Oblivion be damned, I wouldn't believe it if I hadn't seen it with my own eyes-"

"Out with it, Galmar, what is it about the woman you have to say?" Ulfric now kept his voice low, afraid the guards perhaps would hear another rumor and let the winds take it across Skyrim.

Galmar took a moment to straighten his posture and steady himself. "She's a werewolf, Ulfric. I saw her kill Imperials in seconds with those claws. It was wondrous!" He threw his arms out in excitement again. His eyes lit up like a boy receiving his first bow or sword.

"I want to say you're a liar, but I know you all too well for that," Ulfric grumbled. He raised his hand to his chin in thought. There were so many questions and at least half of which he was not sure he wanted the answer. "Do you know anything about werewolves now?" If he were to admit anything it was that werewolves were something of a boyhood fantasy. Then came the chance to study the Thu'um under the Greybeards and his world opened further and left werewolves behind.

"Well for one, she ate quite a few Imperials! Not a single one of our fallen, though… No draugr either, but I suppose they aren't heavy on the meat," Galmar said as he slowed his excitement once more in favor of thought. "Clearly, she's capable of controlling her animalistic impulses, but who knows if that can be said of every werewolf." He continued on for a time about weapons and armor and the changing process, or what little of it he witnessed. “For some reason she doubled back and picked up all of the fallens' amulets as well -not quite sure what that was about.”

There was a loud thud on the door. 

They opened the door to reveal a piece of bread roll away. Grima, who was on the opposite side of the table, froze. Her outstretched arms slowly fell to her sides as she saw both the Jarl and his second in command open the door. Of course it was the very same door her piece of bread assaulted moments prior.

"Speak then, woman! Who are you to point a finger at Wuunferth?" Yrsarald had his back to the door still, and paid no mind to the audience he was used to.

Grima returned her gaze to Yrsarald, but folded her arms over her chest. "Contrary to the rumors, I'm a woman. And beyond all comprehension, I am in Windhelm. I may be wrong, but I believe that puts me in danger. You implied I needed a reason to care, right?"

"Aye, I did."

"Then what reason have you not to care when your sisters are in danger? Why look the other way and make up some excuse when it may be your own friend? Have you no interest in finding a sweet woman to come home to when this war is over with? Maybe it doesn't matter to you. But when Skyrim is in pain, I feel it," Grima placed her fist over her heart and scowled at Yrsarald.

"I suppose you have a point, but still the war must be won. That is what my eyes are fixed on. It's the guards' jobs to take care of the people."

"You really have no interest in bedding a woman, do you?" Retorted Grima with a scoff. "Your loss, I suppose." She sighed. It had been a long night, and a longer day prior, a longer week still. Yet she still had not slept. And she could not while the people were scared and terrorized.

Galmar stepped into the hall first, eager to get his share of breakfast. It was possible he had eyes on asking Grima what she knew about werewolves as well, but Ulfric could not be sure. "Gods, Child! Haven't you slept?" It explained why she suspected one of their most trusted allies. Lack of sleep could break even the strongest will. 

"N-no, I haven't. I… Not for the last few days."

"Go get some rest, there are plenty of beds to spare upstairs," promised Galmar. He was not wrong either, few beds were actually claimed. The rest were for visitors or new recruits. Anyone would be testy after going so long without sleep. There was no surprise to them that Grima traded one edge for another after days without it.

"With all due respect, Galmar: no." Grima still suspected Wuunferth, and his being a destruction mage did not help his case. Gods knew she could not feel safe sleeping in the same building as him. If it were not him, the culprit was still in Windhelm, and that was too close for comfort. Perhaps she would go rest in Kynesgrove and return once her head was clear and she was well rested.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm trying to post on Fridays mostly, but I had a hellish week and a busy Friday, so this is a day late. Sorry about that! 
> 
> Also in my first playthru i went straight to wuunferth, but i dont think i finished the rest of the quest. Years later, and very recently, I bugged the quest, had to restart nd went to Jorlief like "hey its ur bitch the mage!!!!" sooo uhhhhh i compromised for it taking a while longer. However, bc I was also playing that through this chapter and read spoilers to the murderer while looking up how to spell ppls names, I wrote it out as tho wuunferth WERE the murderer and had to go back for edits. If there's confusion in this chapter and the next, that is why and I'm really sorry about it!


	4. Chapter 4

Days passed before Grima returned to the Palace of Kings. Ulfric somehow missed her coming in from his throne, but noticed when a guard escorted her out. He rose from his spot to ask what happened.

As it turned out, she pocketed a soul gem without permission. To escort her out was a simple formality, he knew. Still, Ulfric opened the door to Windhelm and cleared his throat to get Grima's attention. When she turned, he ushered her back inside the palace with the nod of his head. "Here," he said once they were on the warmer side of the closed doors. "Don't do it again," added the Jarl when he placed the soul gem in her palm. It was not in his nature to be so lenient with thieves, but soul gems were plentiful and her loyalty could easily wane thanks to the state of Windhelm.

"I -of course," she fumbled for words. Then Grima pulled her pack from her belt and placed the gem in a side pouch.

"Regardless, I wanted to make you Thane of Windhelm. You have assisted me and the people of Windhelm a great deal. However, laws require you to own land before you can receive such a title," he explained. Ulfric paused for a moment.

The day prior he checked with Jorleif for available properties. However, the only one available was the one Calixto dissected his victims. Grima was not likely to be happy about that. It had not even been cleaned of cobwebs, much less blood and fliers."Have you slept?"

The woman, almost a full head shorter than Ulfric, furrowed her brows. "What does that have to do with anything?" When he stared down at her with a stony, unyielding expression, she sighed. "Yes, Jarl Ulfric, I have indeed slept. Not well, perhaps, but enough to soothe my irritable, womanly soul -if for but a moment."

"The only home vacant at the moment is Hjerim," he explained. 

"Gross," remarked Grima.

"I beg your pardon?" His dark, cold eyes locked with hers. He was a jarl and he was granting her a title. The least Grima could do was act grateful.

"Oh, I mean… How gracious an offer! I must retrieve gold to buy the estate at once. It ought to be properly scrubbed down and furnished as well. Hmm, this may take time. But if my Jarl wishes to make me Thane, then-"

Ulfric pressed his fingers to her lips. "Enough of the theatrics," he insisted as he stared down at her once more. The woman was amusing. He gave her that. But there was no position in court for a jester or fool. Even if there were, she was suited best elsewhere.

"I'll work it out with Jorleif," said Grima, no longer raising her voice for the drama of it. "Has no one teased you before, Ulfric? You don't take to it very well."

"Indeed. You have; twice now if I'm not wrong," he replied with a grin of appreciation for the new scenario. It was not often Ulfric was victim to a good ribbing. Even more rare was for it to come from someone so unfamiliar to him. "Though I cannot discount Galmar's many attempts either," he added.

"Perhaps I ought to encourage him. Lightening up from time to time eases the spirit."


	5. Chapter 5

Windhelm had become a familiar sight for Grima, and its people found her equally familiar. To the point where the woman entered the city through the docks and did her best to stay in the shadows. Too many people always tried to stop her for the latest gossip or newest adventure.

Gods save her from the sweet orphan girl who sold flowers and asked if she would be her momma. That truly was too much on Grima's heart. She had no room for the girl and her travels would mean no mother's love could reach her. Breezehome had been decorated in its entirety to serve her travel needs. There was no room for a child's bed. Hjerim was still covered in blood spatter and Beware the Butcher pamphlets too. Lakeview Manor too, was still rising from its foundations. 

After sneaking past all but the city guard, Grima entered the Palace of Kings. It was not good news to deliver, but she had already played messenger to one Jarl. Ulfric on the other hand knew there were only two possible messages.

With the business end of the weapon, she delivered it back to his hands and waited. "Then I was wrong about him." There was more to that statement behind his eyes, Grima knew that sullen expression all too well. Still, she obediently followed to the war room with Galmar and Yrsarald. Being at the tail, she closed the door behind them, allowing for more privacy.

Instead of planning for the battle, Galmar asked if she planned on transforming into a werewolf. She flinched at the words and idly gripped her arm. "Am I a simple novelty now?" Grima questioned coldly. "Or do you ask to mock me, because I'll be murdered either way," she continued. Skepticism and cynicism on her part made her feel downright stupid.

However, she also felt justified in her questions. When she grabbed the Jagged Crown, Galmar sent her directly on her way without an ounce of hesitation. To be watched and judged under the eyes of those Grima fought alongside made her sick. Curious eyes often felt predatory, as a hunter it brought unease.

"Neither," answered Ulfric, quashing Grima's fears as they bubbled and tried to come to a boil. "Your place is on that battlefield. I need you there."

Ease slowly washed over her like a gentle flood if there ever were such a thing. She dropped her hand from her arm and laced her fingers together. "I will be there," Grima swore in a calmed voice. "But after reporting back to you, I must care for the death wish of my guild master, Kodlak."

"So be it," replied Ulfric with a nod. "Now, let us prepare for what is to come."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the late update, I forgot to say I'd be at a wedding out of town for a long weekend. It was great!!!


	6. Chapter 6

The journey from Whiterun to Windhelm was far. The battle had started in the early morning and lasted into late afternoon. That was of course after a few weeks worth of siege and skirmishes that Grima had not taken a part of. Galmar stayed behind to help the new Jarl set up to the best of his ability. After all, a city unable to keep itself was good as in Imperial hands if they could not make a quick recovery.

In the late evening, Grima striped her gear in favor of a swim. The grime of battle left a sticky residue of ash and blood that her sweat was quick to join. She grumbled quietly to herself. With Illia at her side she could not make the remainder of her journey as a beast, though it would be faster and much more preferable.

"I cannot keep up with you," the woman's voice heaved in complaint. 

In the heat of the excitement and residual bloodlust, Grima failed to notice how far behind her the mage was. She was barely visible in the distance. This was the excuse Grima wanted and needed. Her carnal instinct needed to let loose, nothing would stop her on her journey.

By the time Illia caught up and sat by Grima's gear, Grima had dried off. She plaited her hair carefully, then crowned herself with it. "There ought to be a carriage coming through in the next few hours. Use it to take you to Windhelm with my gear. Either Hjerim will be furnished or you can set up a room in Candlehearth Hall."

"Thank you!" Illia breathed heavily with relief. She was still recovering her stamina as well. "A shame I can't keep up with your vigor though," she added breathlessly. As Grima sorted out her essentials, Illia took a few handfuls of river water into her mouth.

The two parted ways, knowing they would see each other later. While Illia waited for the sweet relief of a carriage driver, Grima transformed into a beast outside of Illia’s view. Anything that could not outrun her fell victim to her claws and bite. Primarily wolves and a sabre cat or two. Her aim was not to keep tally, but hasten her travel to Windhelm. With adrenaline pulsing through her veins, nothing stopped her.

The Hunt only hastened her travels. It was when Grima killed a snow bear with her sharp and fierce claws that she realized she was just outside of Windhelm. She dove into its icy waters to clean her fur and calm her mind. The Hunt could not take her over so near to the guards. As her pulse slowed, she finally transformed back into her human form.

The harsh wind chilled her skin which left goosebumps all over her arms and legs. When she stepped into the Palace of Kings, Grima shuddered at the warmth. Only a few guards stood at their posts for nightwatch. Of them, only one greeted her as she let herself through the war room, then upstairs to the beds. Without a second thought, she entered the jarl's bedroom. The door was already open as he seemed to expect a late night report. When the floorboard creaked under Grima's feet, the jarl stirred. 

"Ulfric," she whispered with excitement. "Uh," the woman took a moment to contain herself. "My Jarl, I have news of Whiterun's battle: we are victorious!"

The man sat up and ran his fingers through his beard to wake himself up. "That is what I wanted to hear," his low voice carried through the halls with ease. "Come now, you must give me your report at the war table," he added as he stood from his bed.

Not long into their meeting, Yrsarald entered the room. "I thought I smelled wet dog," he teased when he saw Grima across from Ulfric. He joined them in hovering over the map, only to notice the bags under Grima's eyes. Her breathing was unsteady, if not slightly labored. And she was covered in goosebumps. "Cover up, woman!" Exclaimed Yrsarald at his discovery. Had he not been so engrossed in her report, he would have insisted that she go to bed right then and there.

Grima jolted at his booming demand, so much she almost fell backwards. But she shouldered off her bag and retrieved one of many snow bear pelts. After wrapping it firmly around herself, Grima took a stick of charcoal and began marking the map.

An hour or two passed as the three talked over logistics, strategy, and numbers. Then Ulfric and Yrsarald bickered beside themselves. This left Grima with the freedom to rest her eyes as she pulled her furs tighter around her arms. Even with the two men arguing back and forth, it was peaceful. Grima was content...

Up until she fell forward onto the war table.

It was not enough to bring her out of the haze of sleep, but it did bring her existence to the attention of both Ulfric and Yrsarald.

"Damn you, woman, get some sleep," cursed Yrsarald, though he was not truly bothered by Grima's weary interruption.

She nodded. "I'll jusssgo to Can'lelart Lit 'n get a bed," she offered. Two steps to the door, and she tripped over herself.

"You'll sleep here," Yrsarald said and took her by the elbow to guide her to the bedrooms.

Much to Ulfric's surprise, Yrsarald took Grima under his wing like a sister over the last few months. Even as he pretended to be irritated with the woman's carelessness, he was unfazed. When Yrsarald returned, he and Ulfric continued with plans as though there had been no interruption at all.

Yrsarald retired to bed before his jarl, who was still knee deep in thought and running through logistics again. Not long after, he waded from his river of thoughts and into his room only to find a familiar snow bear pelt on his bed.

From under the fur poked out two harshly calloused feet belonging to strong calves. Ulfric was of the mind to march right next door and give Yrsarald an earful, however he also knew Grima needed the sleep and had another few weeks of travel ahead of her. Of course, sharing a bed with a woman, no matter how chaste, had its implications that Ulfric was hard pressed to ignore.

He sat down to contemplate, but settled fast. "I'm not going to ask to sleep in my own bed, but I'm not telling you to move either," he said in his best hushed tone.

Her eyes were barely open when she looked over at him. "Don't try anyth'funny an' lemme sleep," she answered and closed her eyes once more.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> In my attempt to be punctual, I still fail. Sorry ab that everyone! I also have like major writing block right now and have to stay on bedrest so I can recover from going to my friends wedding. I'm not sure if I'll be able to keep up w my weekly updates for the remainder of the year and perhaps into the beginning of next. I'm getting top surgery in a few months along with enjoying holidays to the best of my ability and resting.
> 
> I hope you all enjoy reading so far!


	7. Chapter 7

Morning nearly slipped by unnoticed. But Illia cared too much for Grima to let her sleep in. She arrived at the Palace of Kings and was directed to the jarl's room, unbeknownst to her.

There slept Grima… and Ulfric. But not at all touching as they were too wrapped in their separate covers. "Please wake up, we have a long day of travel ahead of us, Mistress," said Illia. She placed fresh clothes beside Grima and gently shook her awake.

Grima complied without a word and sat up to remove her shirt in favor of the clean one Illia brought her. But Illia was more careful. She stopped Grima before she could completely reveal her torso with a man present.

"Oh don't be so prude," scolded Grima. She nudged Illia's arm away and proceeded to strip. "He's not awake. Even if he were, he's not the first to see me naked. I doubt I'm anywhere near the first he's seen either," she grumbled in a flippant manner, quick to overcome such a silly barrier. Soldiers shared their quarters across Skyrim and managed to keep their hands and gazes to themselves. She trusted Ulfric, were he to wake, to hold true to those roots.

"Your shoulder is out of its socket!" Illia gasped.

"Hm? Oh, place your hand here and push against me. Ready?"

Ulfric rolled over to face away from the women and perhaps grant himself peace in his own room. Yrsarald would hear him gripe for weeks after this, he swore to himself.

Grima let out a moan of pain and her shoulder popped into place. Ulfric fought the urge to see what happened, because he knew, but also because such a sound had come from her lips. He was wide awake now and did not want to let the women know he heard such an arousing sound. 

When they were finally gone, Ulfric stretched away the tension of his pretend-sleep. His fingers brushed against a piece of paper. It was from Grima and had a bite mark in the top right corner to prove it.

_Jarl Ulfric Stormcloak,_

_Apologies for my intrusion on your room, I cannot quite remember how I ended up here. I hope I did not wake you, as you courteously did not wake me. Thank you for allowing me to rest soundly. It has been some time since sleep has found me with such ease._

_Graciously,  
-G_

Ulfric chuckled at the notion. She had slept so soundly, she failed to remember her dislocated shoulder. Of course, he and Yrsarald failed to notice it in the early hours of the morning as well. But to not notice one's own pain was laughable.

Then he remembered that soft moan not even an hour ago. It played over in Ulfric's mind and made him curious to hear more. Preferably, not out of pain, but still. Such a delicate, but forceful sound begged to be heard. His imagination had the better of him. It ran wild with wonder of her more primal habits and what she did with them in bed.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I havent touched this fic in 2 months. I'm not very motivated and bed bound for the time being. Its sitting just shy of 40k words so theres plenty to come.
> 
> Hope you've all been enjoying this far!


	8. Chapter 8

The next time Grima visited the Palace of Kings, was months later in the middle of the night. She had a dark-haired man with her. They gathered bounties from Jorleif and disappeared back into the night.

A week passed before Grima's laughter filled the hall, which gained Ulfric, Galmar, and Yrsarald's attention. The men filtered from the war room to the dining hall. There stood their Ice-Veins with two dark-haired men about her height if not a little taller.

There was something different though. Something was off with how the woman wore her hood, when she typically never wore a hood in favor of solid helmets. Galmar called out to her, and when she faced his direction the men saw careful bandages over her eyes.

"What's with this, Ice-Veins?" Yrsarald questioned as he approached her and gestured to her face as though she could see.

She tilted her head to the side. "He means your eyes, Sister," grunted the smaller man by her side.

"These are my shield-brothers, Vilkas and Farkas of the Companions," Grima said first. "This is Yrsarald," she paused to think of who could be with him. "And perhaps Galmar? And…?"

"And Ulfric Stormcloak," Vilkas told her.

"I’m not allowed to bow or I’ll ruin my vision forever,” Grima said, then flashed a cheeky grin. “If it isn’t already gone forever! My life of murder and Hunt will be lost to time, but a memory of what I loved.

“I’m fine,” she then followed hastily. “I’ve been seen by a few healers and everything will be better with rest.”

“What happened?” Yrsarald asked.

Vilkas stepped forward. “A spider spit into her eyes,” he then directed his attention to Grima, “because her faculties apparently prevent her from blinking like any sane person.”

“Ok, but you can’t blink or you’ll miss what they’re doing. You have to watch their legs -and they’ve got eight! So you have to be careful and-”

“Enough, Strongheart,” grunted Vilkas with a huff. He returned his attention to the three military men standing before them. “We are here on business as Companions. War talks with our Harbinger will have to wait till another time,” he said in a flat, no nonsense voice. 

“Harbinger?” Galmar balked. 

The woman nodded this time, sullen. “We helped Kodlak to Sovngarde and he chose me to fill his shoes. So, even without my injury, I need time away. The Companions must move from mourning to return to normalcy. I owe it to them to do this,” she explained.

The full truth was that they had spent the last month routing the Silver Hand. None of the Companions knew the quest Kodlak put her on, until she freed his spirit from Hircine and his Eternal Hunt. The jarl and his men did not need to know that her shield-brothers were also werewolves. That they had blessed her with the gift of Hircine. 

“Vilkas, would you turn in the bounty? I need to return home before a fever hits again,” said Grima. She reached out for either of the twins’ hands. Her face began to flush with fever.

Vilkas snatched up her hand. “Farkas doesn’t know where in Windhelm you live,” he pointed out. “Go sit and I will find Jorleif.” Then he placed Grima’s hand on his brother’s forearm and walked off.

Not long after, the trio left the warmth of the palace for the streets of Windhelm and all the snowy wind it had to offer them. They entered Hjerim and found Calder tending to a stew in the kitchen. “Welcome back,” Calder offered a warm welcome. The stew was hardy and thickening well, but still needed time. The aroma sat heavy in the air, unmoved by the winds through the doorway. 

“Thank you, Calder,” Grima waved with her free hand. She moved into the main room to one of the many seats and began removing her gear. With her eyes covered, there was little to do, and little reason to wear her armor. The armor that was quickly removed was light enough, save her gauntlets.

She plucked away at the countless buckles. Each finger freed one by one from the dense iron, before they fell to the floor with unceremonious clunks. Her jerkin was another story, filled with laces. But it was boots that needed to go first, according to Vilkas. Grima allowed him to unbuckle those to, because he would not allow her to bend over and possibly irritate her eyes further. She lifted her arms when they were ready and finally she was free of armored garb.

Without vision, she had little insight into their thoughts. No furrowed brows or judging glares. But what she could tell without her eyes was that the men she trusted to care for her were not watching her with predatory eyes. That was what mattered most to her.

Vilkas and Farkas were fast to take care of their own equipment. Despite being decked out in heavy armor, it took far less time to remove. They were far more familiar with their own gear than Grima’s. When they were done, Farkas led her to her room and Vilkas left to fetch a wash basin for a sponge bath. 

They gave Grima her privacy and returned to her with Calder’s stew once it was ready. She hiked up her skirt and folded her legs on the bed before holding her hands out to take the dish. “Was it a long trip for you, Farkas?” She asked, intent on starting conversation.

“Not long at all,” Farkas replied as he scarfed down his meal. “Didn’t see a damn dragon either, wouldn’t want to take one on without you.”

Grima perked up at that. “Please, don’t tell anyone… It’s best the Stormcloaks and Imperials believe I am simply Harbinger and help the Dovahkiin as a courier on occasion.” 

Vilkas nodded in agreement. His mouth was full of stew and he chewed carefully on the meat to savor it. He finished chewing and swallowed. With his mouth clear, he was free to speak. “Either would definitely try to use you to their advantage, I believe that’s a wise choice.”

“I’m fine with being a pawn, but to be a crown piece worth its weight in gold…”

“That’s not going to happen,” Farkas said and placed his hands firmly on the bed. His bowl of stew was long gone and sat at a side table. “We are at your side with sword and shield.”

She set her empty bowl in front of her for one of the men to take care of for her. “I know, but I still worry,” murmured Grima. Her head hurt, almost pounding at the thought of someone taking advantage of her. Some political gambit for their own gain. To stand at the center would be a nightmare, one she dreamt of often. 

“We’ll clean up and change your bandages,” Vilkas offered and stood from the bed. Farkas rose to his feet as well and took Grima’s bowl. “We’ll be right back.”

They treaded softly away and out of the room. Alone with her thoughts, Grima settled against the headboard and adjusted her pillows accordingly. To be a pawn in a stupid war to weaken the Empire, to weaken Skyrim and Cyrodiil in one fell swoop, was a deplorable thought. But she had already taken a side, the Skyrim side, the Stormcloak side. To stay a pawn until her truth was revealed, that was the best course of action. The only one Grima felt she could take. 

Quiet but heavy footsteps padded into the room. By their scent, it was not Farkas or Vilkas or Calder, but they were still familiar. “I came to check on you, Ice-Veins.” It was Ulfric in her home, her room, in his city, his domain. 

She could not see it, but he stood with his weight shifted on one foot and his hand brushed his chin in thought. He eyed her over. Her hair fell to her waist in two sloppy plaits across her chest. Her fingers loosely knit together rested over her stomach. The skirt she wore was still hiked up her thighs to her groin, showing many marks on her calves of bear trap scars and scuffs from the brush of Skyrim’s wilderness. Her thighs, muscular but also thick and fatty, were on full display. She had her share of scars there as well, though less of them, they were larger and more significant.

The tunic she wore covered her arms, but not the majority of her torso. It was unlaced, or rather laceless and open. The entirety of her sternum was exposed to him, though her breasts were still modestly covered with the thin fabric. A large bruise was visible, if only a little, but it was there and dark. 

“That’s kind of you, My Jarl,” Grima said with her pale pink lips and strong jowls. “I assure you, I’m fine -aside from my severe case of The Sillies.” A tender smile graced her lips. Had her eyes not been covered, it would be clear she had been deep in thought. 

Then again, had she not been temporarily blinded, Ulfric would not have eyed her so intensely.

Farkas cleared his throat at the doorway to quietly announce himself to the room. He held a clean basin and fresh bandages. “Take a seat, Jarl,” he offered and set the items down so his brother could tend to Grima’s injury. “This will take a while.”

An obvious grimace crossed Grima’s face, but she said nothing. Help was a necessity. One of her five senses needed to recover. To recover she had to endure the pain of cleaning a wound and using all the ointments and drops and gauze required in spite of the searing pain it caused.

Vilkas entered without warning and sat down in front of Grima on her bed. “Sorry if this hurts a bit,” he sighed. When he pulled her forward slightly, he noticed the bruise on her shoulder. “Grima, what’s this?”

“I can’t see, Vilkas,” she responded, already ill-tempered from anticipation of her upcoming treatment. Then her shoulder ached to the bone. Vilkas pressed his palm at the spot, bringing it to her attention. She hissed and winced. “Ha-ah oww,” she whispered, breathless from the intense pain that now radiated from her shoulder and into her arm and ribs. “I’ll take care of it, here,” she moved to her knees and her shirt fell just a little deeper. 

Grima took the hand opposite her shoulder and started a healing spell. Vilkas pulled her shirt off her shoulder, so the magic could have more direct contact with the skin. The bruise was severe and and stormy with purples, rounded with an angry red. Then it faded slowly, turning to an ugly brown, then a sickly yellow, before finally matching her skin once more.

The woman almost fell over if it were not for Vilkas’ steadying her into the headboard by her waist. Then he pushed her to the center of the bed so he could sit at the edge. “Aren’t you being a bit rough with her, brother?” Farkas asked as he returned to the room with ointments and salves for Grima.

Ulfric startled, but steadied himself. He had not noticed Farkas leave, so his arrival was unexpected. When he returned his attention back to his Thane, he saw her without the bandages.

Her eyes were swollen and crusted shut in a sickening fashion. Ulfric would have turned away, but noticed that the twins moved to pin her down. Grima did not squirm as Farkas sat on her stomach, her arms pinned under his legs. When Vilkas went to his diligent work, Grima began to squirm.

It started in her toes when they curled. Then her feet tangled together. She squirmed under the larger brother, Farkas, if Ulfric remembered correctly, but did her best not to buck him from his position. “I’m going to be a blind old hag forever,” Grima spouted her anxiety-induced fantasy again. Her voice fluctuated up and down in pain. “The Falmer are going to have to teach me how to live without my eyes, but they would kill me first. All because I’m not one of them! It’s gonna be awful and painful,” she continued dramatically. Her shoulders squirmed and her fists balled up, but still she did not move Farkas.

“Why must you be such a child, Grima?” Grumbled Vilkas without pause. His eyes set to help Grima.

“What else am I supposed to do when I travel alone? Cry about it?”

Vilkas rolled his eyes, but said nothing. But his mind filled with too many thoughts. He wondered what happened when she was away from the Companions. Why the jarl was there. Watching. Or perhaps that Grima was on the path to madness with all of her nonsense and meaningless stories.

“Aren’t women supposed to get married about it?” Farkas asked.

Everyone paused.

A huff escaped Grima’s lips. Frustrated and desperate. Anxiety bubbled in her chest. “I’m seven years a widow, dear.” No one knew that, save Aela, but she was absent from the room. The weight of the room was heavy now; the air thick with silence. Grima let out a low, rumbling growl. “Are you going to clean my eyes or not, Vilkas? This is uncomfortable...”

Another hour passed, filled with Grima’s whines and grumbles and terrible stories, but it passed. To the jarl’s surprise, she even thanked both men for their treatment and patience. The brothers were quick to clean and bring back her snow bear furs, the best to battle the cold breeze that rolled in when it so chose.

Vilkas brought her a pitcher of water and set it at her bedside. “It’s fine, I promise. You will know if I need anything,” said Grima in a soft, appreciative voice. It was enough to get him to leave, but not to stop him from sending a warning glare Ulfric’s way. He even shut the door behind himself and left for the main floor.

“Are you alright?” Ulfric asked, his voice naturally boomed.

Grima patted her bed. “Come, sit, and lower your voice. It carries well and I doubt you stayed this long for such a question,” she said, easily reading his actions. When his weight finally shifted to sit beside her, she sighed. “Must you eye me like that?” There was a moment’s pause as she gathered herself. The treatment had worked through the best of her temperament. “Jarl, I can feel your eyes on my skin. That does not put a woman at ease.”

His chuckle of response barreled against her ribs with warmth. “I suppose not,” he replied. “I did not think you a widow,” he added without the mirth his voice held before. 

“War takes many things; I am not alone in that,” she said equally somber. “But that is not why you came here either.”

“I wanted to ask about werewolves,” Ulfric said. It was not a lie, but it was not the full truth either. This visit to her home was to see her, to hear her speak. “And also to inform you, I was awake when your battlemage entered my quarters.” Her sounds and words still haunted his mind, replaying like some cursed fantasy.

“Jarl Ulfric, I understand I don’t take care of myself, but that is no excuse to hunt me,” Grima surmised. Her hand reached up to fiddle with her bandages, but Ulfric took her hand and placed it back in her lap. He may not have tended to her injury, but he knew the importance of bandages and that they did not need to be fiddled with.

The jarl wore a confused face that Grima could not see. Why would he want to kill her for not looking after herself? Not that she should be so crass to her own needs, but that was no reason to end another’s life. “Why would I hunt you?” He settled to ask, instead of ponder.

“I-” She started, but stopped herself. There were so many things she could say. So many answers for such a small question. But Vilkas and Farkas would not want to be outed, nor would any of the Companions. Especially not after their year-long attacks to and from the Silver Hand. But Kodlak was dead and in Sovngarde, he would not mind being outed in this instance. 

“Grima?”

The woman let out a hefty sigh. “My shield-brothers, Farkas and Vilkas, they know of my… Blessing. I told you the last Harbinger, Kodlak, died?”

“Aye, you did,” responded the jarl.

“He was also a werewolf, even until I met him in Ysgramor’s tomb. He viewed his blessing as a curse, and sought to have it removed, so he could go to Sovngarde. Hircine claims the souls of werewolves after death to join the Eternal Hunt in his grounds.

“His wish for a cure attracted the attention of the Silver Hand. Werewolf Hunters,” Grima explained with indifference. “Until two weeks ago, I was with my Shield Siblings routing the Silver Hand. Being hunted and hunting in return.” Her skirt wrapped around her fingers in careful, delicate swirls as she fidgeted. 

Uneasy silence filled the air. Then the jarl spoke. “Did you -Did you free him and send him to Sovngarde?” His voice was hushed, but still easily made it to her ears. When she nodded he had another question. “How?”

She swallowed, her mouth was thick with saliva. Her nerves danced like a madman. Divines curse the moment Galmar saw her turn into a werewolf. A man’s curiosity could never be sated. “I killed the Glenmoril Witches, a bunch of hagravens who offered his predecessor the beast blood for a better edge,” answered Grima. The words found her on their own this time. It felt like a better story compared to what she already told him. “And I burned their head in the flame of Ysgramor’s tomb.”

Again silence, but without the jarl’s hungry eyes on Grima. She was not sure whether to feel relief or concern. “You were all over Skyrim in the last months for Kodlak,” he murmured in amazement. “You are truly an honorable Nord.” Ulfric ate her story right up.

To travel the country and best any beast she came across so her friend’s soul could rest in peace. So he could go to Sovngarde, his dying wish, rather than the Eternal Hunting Grounds of Hircine, how empowering. Few had ever gone so far to lay another’s soul to rest. Grima did it, not for honor, but because it was right. 

“Ulfric, I am sorry for intruding in your quarters that night. Honest to the Divines I don’t remember what happened. I was so exhausted. I thought Yrsarald helped me find an empty room to sleep in, but I must have tried to find company later on,” she babbled out senselessly. After all, Ulfric also mentioned that he was not asleep the morning she left.

“Yrsarald led you to an empty room, but it was mine,” he replied and found himself irritated with Thrice-Pierced once more. 

Her fingers struggled from their reigns on her skirt, but freed themselves with some effort. Her palms glistened with sweat, which she then dragged against her skirt with aggressive force. “Oh,” she muttered, disheartened. 

Misplaced trust was the likely cause, but Ulfric prayed that was not the case. Then he smiled. “But you were right, when you spoke to your battlemage. You are not the first I’ve seen naked. War has a way of stripping those formalities,” he told her with certainty. “Not that I haven’t had my fair share of bedding women either,” he added in a more jovial manner to lift her spirits.

He won a lively giggle from Grima. “I like your pun,” she told him in earnest. “I really thought you were going to ask about werewolf sex or something silly like that.”

Ulfric licked his bottom lip and snorted. “I was.”

“That explains the looks,” she said under her breath, but he still heard her. “Such predatory stares are unnerving. Now I know how prey feels when I Hunt.”

“Woman, do you have an answer for me?”

Grima shook her head. “I haven’t noticed a difference to tell you the truth, but it’s not as though I’ve gone fucking around like a bitch in heat anyway,” she replied, her answer genuine. “It’s been a very long while since I’ve thought of anyone like that.”

“Since your late husband, I take it?”

Divines, Lord Ulfric must have been weaved together with questions galore! Grima had no envy for those in charge of his upbringing. “My stillborn,” she said, her voice weighed heavy. She sighed and shook her head. “I will not think of it more tonight,” Grima announced sternly and waved her hands as though it would clear the gloom from the air. “Were I not impared so severely, maybe I would think on it more seriously, but I prefer to hear and see my partner writhe.”

There went her predatory nature again. The woman’s wolfish grin was downright primal, there was no denying it. Somehow that added to the appeal of bedding her. “So the brothers are not here for your personal pleasure?” Ulfric teased, his smile shown in his voice.

“They are here to help me recover and to fight by my side. I trust them with a great deal of secrets,” she revealed, her smile turned to a subtle smirk. “Is there anything else you care to know while our privacy lasts?”

Ulfric shook his head. “No, not until you recover.”

She requested he help her down the stairs. Grima did not desire for the men in her life to stay unacquainted, even if the secrets they knew did not quite line up. So Ulfric led her down the stairs step by step with a hand at her hip, and the other guiding her other hand.

Calder brought out her good ale, which was not the best, but still palatable. They chatted, sharing stories of battle and war and adventures. Nothing too personal. Nothing too heavy. Nothing too secret.

The warm conversation was enough to bring Grima peace. An hour later, she leaned into Farkas’ thick arm, presumably asleep. Not only had the day exhausted her, but so had cleaning her injury. It was a miracle the woman had lasted as long as she had. Vilkas even bet she would pay for it in the morning.

The jarl dismissed himself. His own rest was equally important, of not more so. Grima’s stories even left him feeling enlightened.

When Farkas finally tucked Grima under her furs on her bed, she refused to let go of his arm. “I don’t wanna be’lone,” she grumbled sleepily.

“I’m not giving you bologna,” Farkas chuckled, misunderstanding her sleep-speech.

Vilkas entered the room.

“I don’t wanna be alone.” 

Vilkas snorted. “This again, Grima?”

She nodded, effectively nuzzling Farkas’ arm at the same time. “Mhmm,” she hummed.


	9. Chapter 9

Grima woke between the twins. Farkas was at her back, curled around her and nuzzled into her neck with an arm around her waist. Her face rested on Vilkas’ pectoral with an arm around his stomach as he slept on his back. She hummed in content and pulled Vilkas closer to her. They were so warm and comforting, she fell back asleep.

When she tried to roll onto her stomach and readjust, Vilkas pushed Grima over onto her back. He nuzzled into her chest. Fingers rested at her navel. His leg wrapped on top of hers. Farkas was still nested into her hair which he also twirled around his fingers.

"Why was the jarl here?" Vilkas muttered into the skin of her chest.

A shutter rolled through Grima's body and he breathed on to her skin again. "He wanted to ask about werewolves," she replied breathily. "He only knows of me and that I granted Kodlak his wish for Sovngarde."

There was something else. Each of them knew and noticed Ulfric's attentive eyes wander over her from head to heel. The brothers, he kept a particularly close watch on.

"I think he asked about hormonal cycles or something with werewolves," she giggled at that. "Men can be so stupid."

Vilkas sat up. "Did you tell him?"

"Tell him what? I haven't noticed any change," Grima said frankly. "Maybe this is a conversation for Aela…"

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i forgot ab this chapter so uhh i never elaborated on anything. uh, think what u want i guess
> 
> i havent written for or been motivated to write for this in a long ass time so im equally unmotivated to post i guess


	10. Chapter 10

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A lil NSFW at the end, whoops. Guess I did put that in the rating though so here you go!

Another two months came and went. No word on the war front aside from a minor skirmish. Life at the Palace of Kings had grown stagnant. Rumors came and went. Trade continued as it always had. Hunters were lost to a troll or bandit raid.

It was late when Ice-Veins came in. Just as it always was when she arrived. Ralof was behind her. "My Jarl, we return from Falkreath victorious!" The red haired nord announced with pride. Their mission had been his first station as acting command. He had every right to beam with excitement. His smile, oddly contagious, spread over the soldiers that returned with him as well as the guards posted at the doors. "Bone-Breaker here really came through!" He laughed heartily and his men followed in.

Grima sheepishly ducked her head when Ralof gave her a friendly knock on the back. "Bone-Breaker eh, woman?" Galmar snorted. "Come, sit, and feast. This sounds like a story worth hearing!" He announced.

The feast began with ale and casual mention of the battle behind them. The battle for Falkreath. The soldiers sat at the table and feasted on what was offered them.

As the night wore on the men started chanting about the battle. Then chanting became singing. Then the singing encouraged dancing. And as the ale flowed the men got to getting rowdy.

There was no harm in a drunken brawl between friends, but before it took to fisticuffs Ralof pulled Grima to him. First the newly named Bone-Breaker was confused, if not a bit dizzy, but then he started twirling her around and dancing with himself. She knew what Ralof was after. Soon she had him spinning too.

They kicked their feet together in time and clapped out the rhythm with the rest of the soldiers. A few more joined in with them as well.

They gripped each other's hands and leaned in opposite directions, counterweight kept them from falling off the table completely. When they pulled each other in, Ralof gave her a bear hug and spun her around. It seemed now they had a song and dance for bards to sing in the tavern and for their patrons to enjoy.

Ulfric entered the dining hall in the morning. Sifnar cleared most of the rabble from the night and had the jarl's breakfast ready. On the other side of the table rested Grima. Her face implanted on a plate from the night before.

No one bothered to take her home, a surprise given her housecarl surely sat warm and cozy in Hjerim. Ulfric reached out and palmed Grima's head. When he lifted her head the plate stuck for a minute, then fell with a clatter.

"Ow," Grima let out a pained groan but fell easily back onto the plate when the jarl let go of her head.

"Sifnar, hair of the dog for the woman."

Sifnar simply nodded, it was the best he could do. When he returned, he had the drink in hand and set it before Grima. Then he took the plate from under her. "Anything else, my lord?" He asked.

"A basin for her to wash, or Calder to take her home," Ulfric replied.

Again Sifnar nodded and left him to his meal.

He took a few bites of his meal in the peace of morning after one victory of many. He did not care for a peaceful meal the morning after celebration, at least not one where his newly named Bone-Breaker sat with her face sinking into the table. She had enjoyed the celebration while he worked through papers in his office, elsewhere in the Palace.

Jealousy is what he felt. That, and amusement. How did a werewolf deal with a hangover? How did dear, little Grima deal with a hangover. "Little Pup, wake up," Ulfric teased and held out a piece of rare steak in front of her nose.

"I'll bite off your nose, you oaf of a jarl."

He snorted. "That so, Little Pup? Need I remind you, it's not smart to threaten your jarl," he hummed, enjoying their current position. 

Grima felt his deep voice rumble through the table. "Oh fuck off and fuck me, cowardly hoarker," she groaned against the table.

"Hair of the dog, Thane. Your housecarl, Calder is on his way," Sifnar said as he set down a full cup of foul drink.

Ulfric immediately regretted his prior words to the man. The conversation with Grima was starting to get somewhere. His teasing must have drawn something out of her. Very few challenged the jarl with a good tumble for simply waking them up. The woman was an exception.

"Thank you, kindly sir," Grima said as she stared blearily up at Sifnar. Sifnar was long gone and even further gone by the time Grima managed to sit up. She downed the drink as fast as she could. Then she stuck out her tongue in disgust and rolled her eyes. "I've been damned, haven't I?" She asked. She took a moment to choke back bile. 

"How was your celebration, Little Pup?" Ulfric prodded with a grin that told her he was getting his kicks from these questions. 

She groaned and held her head. "Rolaf spun me so much I could puke... The men made a song about me." The woman went quiet as she tried to remember exactly where she was. The scene was much different from how she left it in the early hours of morning. "My Jarl did not come to look pretty for us," she skulked, hungover but still theatrical in her mannerisms. "As his Thane, my heart broke." Grima placed the back of her hand to her forehead and pretended to faint as best as she could manage given her state.

"Enough, woman," chuckled Ulfric.

Grima giggled, a giddy little giggle. "I was told you had work to tend to, I did ask. I promise."

"Did you really?" He asked.

She nodded in the affirmative. "No." Grima paused. "Yes, I did."

"My Thane!"

Grima whined loudly and covered her head with her arms. "Fuck, I've been found." 

"My Thane, I've come to gather you," said Calder. He had a pelt in his arms and spread it out to set over her shoulders. "We ought to get out of the jarl's hair while the wind is still tame," he urged into her hair. A pang of jealousy shot through Ulfric. In front of him, Calder had his arms around one of his strongest warriors and whispered in her ear. The man lived with her and would take her home to boot! 

Before Ulfric could speak up and insist she stay a little while longer, Grima slunk off of her seat. She disappeared under the table. "This thane you are looking for is simply not here. She must be elsewhere. Or perhaps bathing in the river again. Damn that strange woman."

A smile grew on Ulfric's face. "Perhaps I should open the position of court jester. It seems one fitting the title has hidden," he mused, going along with her game.

"I'm terribly sorry, Lord Ulfric," said Calder through a pained, yet amused expression. He could hardly hold back his own laughter at the absurdity of his thane. "Grima," he urged.

The woman groaned from under the table. Her hand splayed across Ulfric's upper thigh. She popped her head up from under the table, now directly at the jarl's side. "Calder, I'm trying to behave inappropriately, so I wont be sent away from a lover's embrace once more." Again Grima adopted a woe-is-me demeanor. She gripped tight to Ulfric's arm, pressing herself to him.

"My Thane, please. I insist you don't test the jarl's patience any further," said Calder. He was worried now. The jarl was known to have a temper and he was sworn to protect his thane with his life. To defend her from his jarl… Calder did not want to think of it.

It was a strange morning, uneventful day, and argumentative evening for Ulfric. 

Galmar would not cease in harassing him over visiting Grima whenever she was in Windhelm. It was inappropriate of a jarl, moreso it was unacceptable behavior for him. The people talked, especially Viola Giordano and her gossiping lips with words that would follow him to Sovngarde.

"She's been telling me tales of her werewolf adventures," Ulfric replied when he knew they were alone and his voice could reach no one but Galmar.

A light flickered in Galmar. His eyes now shown bright as though dazed by the comforting blaze of a campfire on a bone chilling night. "Now I envy you, Ulfric. She's failed to tell me any heroic stories of the sort," he admitted with a hearty chuckle. "How about we pay the woman a visit?"

"I'm more keen to that than another few hours of arguing with you, my friend," laughed Ulfric as they rounded the table. The two did not need cloaks as they had weathered worse than a fair night in Northern Skyrim. "Is she hairy as a wolf?" Galmar joked. "Does she have fangs?"

"You've seen her before, Galmar. Why are you giddy as a virgin now?" Ulfric wondered. Perhaps the idea of werewolves or werewolves themselves made people a bit… mad. That or it was the woman herself. 

Galmar knocked on her door once they made it to Hjerim. Calder answered and they walked in as though it were their own home, because in Windhelm they were accustomed to being welcome. In fact they were so used to it they did not pay any mind to Calder when he suggested they wait downstairs while he went to talk to Grima.

"My Thane, Jarl Ulfric and Galmar Stone-Fist are here," he announced as they walked into her room.

"They can bugger off, Calder. I'm naked."

It was then that the two men saw Grima. She was naked as the day she was born. Her hair was loose from its braids and pooled around her in the wash tub. Her stony green eyes bore into their souls. "You tit-loving, motherfucking, hoarker-humping, milk-drinkers better have a damned good reason for interrupting my bath," she let out a low growl and showed off her teeth.

Her torso was red with scratches and it was obvious her face had endured a great deal of chilling breezes. There were large bruises scattered about her legs as well. Divines only knew what had happened to her between now and when Ulfric saw her earlier in the morning. 

Modesty was something she was beyond. The day had worn on her though, as she had little patience for anything getting in the way of her bath.

"What happened?" Galmer questioned after overcoming his shocked silence.

"Do you men have a hearing deficiency? I asked what on Kyne's green earth you are doing here!" Grima reminded them as she rose from the tub. Water steadily fell off her nude form. Her nipples were perky from the cold air around them. Her wet skin gleamed in the candlelight.

Ulfric could feel his pants tighten at the sight before him. How could he not, it was as though Dibella stood before him and told him his fate. Only it was Grima and she reached for the chair beside her so she could throw it at them with the rage of Talos. If Galmar were not there, Ulfric probably would have made his wishes known.

"Ulfric?" She questioned, unbreaking.

He groaned and turned away. "My apologies, Bone-Breaker," said Ulfric. He could not help but check back on her form. She truly had the curves of a goddess with such wide hips and round thighs and full breasts with pert nipples.

"Werewolf," whispered Galmar.

She threw the chair straight at the both of them then plopped back down in her bath. "Pigs, the lot of you! Never weaned from a tit in your lives!" Grima growled again, but continued to bathe herself.

Galmar took the chair that was thrown at his head and sat in it while Ulfric took a seat on her bed.

"I suppose I would have reported this tomorrow anyway, but there was a dragon attack on Kynesgrove today," she said solemnly. "I… I need to help the dragonborn and their cause," Grima told them. 

"You've met the dragonborn?!" Galmar shot out of his chair in shock, but slowly eased back into his seat when Grima glared at him.

"What can you say of him?" Ulfric asked. His brows furrowed together in thought and concern.

Grima sighed and shook her head. "Nothing more than you already know of them, My Jarl," she said, worry seeded deep into her stomach. It formed a harsh, heavy pit there. "It may be months before I return with word of or for them, but it must be done.

"Skyrim should never know dragons as she does now. I cannot stand by, knowing even if we save her from the Thalmor, her fate may be sealed."

"Galmar, bring this to Thrice-Pierced and Jorleif. Word must be sent to the other jarls. We may not be able to offer much for the Dragonborn, but we must ensure them our support," Ulfric told his general who took his leave immediately. He rubbed his temples and sighed.

"Jarl, I still have to speak to you about some things. Please close the door." Grima stood once more and tied her hair up loosely before shaking herself dry. "I can feel your eyes on me, dear Jarl," she cooed at him.

He crossed the room again and sat back down on her bed. She did not have modesty and did not know how to fake it either. Instead, Grima cupped the Jarl's face between her hands and stood over him. 

His hands moved to her wrists, then to her waist, then finally her hips. He tugged her closer. Grima pulled back when he tried to kiss her as well. Resisting even his most desperate movements with a satisfied smirk.

She pushed off his wolf fur with a smirk, then licked her lips, hungry for more. Ulfric would give it to her, easily and without hesitation. But she wanted him to beg and quiver and moan. Grima pushed him aggressively into the bed and took a step back. "Disrobe, my Jarl. I won't be the only one in such a state of undress."

As he stripped, Ulfric could feel Grima stare him down with thirsty eyes. More and more he understood what she meant when she said his eyes felt predatory. When he finally released his erection from his small clothes she grinned a wicked grin.

She knelt before him, her hands ran over the divots between muscles in his thighs and licked the length of his cock with her hot mouth and warm lips. The thought of this happening had disappeared for the day, but returned with full force as soon as he realized she was naked in the tub. Ulfric steadied himself with one hand. The other took the base of her neck, hair slipping between his fingers, and gripped tight.

With her lips secured on the head of his cock, she moaned, sending vibrations straight to the base in the most enticing way.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I've lost a lot of interest in posting these chapters and I haven't updated the story for MONTHS. The doc is at 39k words, so there's plenty of time but oof

**Author's Note:**

> I am looking for a beta reader, please message me via discord if interested Mergoat #9736
> 
> Currently this fic sits at 33k+ words and counting. I've lost a little bit of my drive as I've touched major points I wanted to write this fic for. So either I will add a proper ending, or continue into a secondary subject in this fic. Not sure yet.


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